Entering the Valley of Flowers
Another path where feet obey,
another way of slate and lime,
a winding track from yesterday,
a quickstep walk to sunrise time.
The circling of a bird of prey
and tail-less rats on grey moraine
that hope to keep their fur today;
a gasp of air when feet complain.
The Pushpawati River's spray,
each footbridge step -- a crunch, a sound byte.
Approach the flower pass today
and step across into the light.
(from Foreign Madam and the White Yogi, a verse novel in progress)